


Who Are You?

by GrumpyJenn



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mattex, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyJenn/pseuds/GrumpyJenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt's feeling lonely before his friends are even gone. And so is Alex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Are You?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [areyoumarriedriver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumarriedriver/gifts).



“Who are you?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? The question all the writers and directors wanted him to say. He’d said it as Eleven to Alex as River at least twice and he’d said it as Tommy to Eva as Rebecca. Several times, three or four just in _that_ scene. He may have said it as Danny in _Party Animals_ but that was several years ago and he’d forgotten.

Maybe they just liked the way he said it.

And now he was saying it to himself. Nearly thirty, best job in the universe except maybe football... but his best mates were leaving and his favourite actress - hell, one of his favourite _people_ (who he’d fancied for _years_ ) - was likely leaving as well. Soon anyway, and it’s not like she was around all the time as it was. And he was beginning to ask himself what he wanted to do after _Who_ , and well... who he was himself. He couldn’t be the Eleventh Doctor for his whole life, so who was he really?

Matt sighed and ran a hand through his hair, bending over the script changes they’d handed him a few minutes ago. He felt... low, he decided. A bit sad and kind of wistful.

“Hello, Sweetie,” Alex said, channeling River Song, and ran a hand up his tweedy arm to his shoulder where she gave it a gentle squeeze. “Need any help?”

“No, thanks,” he said, afraid to look up from the script for fear she’d see what a kid he was being about this. She must think of him as a child in any case. He didn’t notice the nineteen years between them most of the time; he thought her experience made her brilliant and kind and strong and sexy and a fantastic actress, but he didn’t notice the age difference as such. But she must, because she was leaning over him in a way that he could only interpret as motherly, and she was tipping his face up with a finger under his chin. Also motherly, he thought with a touch of bitterness, clearly she viewed him as a child.

But when their eyes met, although hers were concerned, the expression was not in any way maternal. They were soft and a little misty and such deep pools of green he thought he might fall right in and drown. “I’d like to help,” she said, and he noticed a little catch in her voice, and then he realised that she’d miss them too. Hell, she might even miss _him_.

“Can we talk later? Busy ears and eyes round here.”

Alex nodded and finally pulled her hand back, and looked away to check her watch. “Seven, my flat? Pasta?” He nodded and she smiled at him. “Right. See you then.” And she was gone.

At seven sharp he knocked on the door of her flat, and when she opened it she smiled at him, having obviously recovered from her own downcast mood. “Hi,” he said, “Talked to Salome tonight did you?” At her surprised look he waved a hand at her, narrowly missing hitting her with the bottle of red wine he held. “You look happy, so I thought you must’ve talked to her.”

“I’d no idea you were watching me so closely darling,” Alex said, automatically flirtatious as she looked up at him through her lashes.

“‘Course I am.” Matt smiled down at her. “I always do.” _Shit_ , he thought, _that sounds a little creepy_. But she said nothing, just stretched up on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek and took the bottle of wine. She turned it in her hands to read the label and raised an eyebrow. He shrugged. “You said pasta. I took a chance.”

“Good choice. Come with me to the kitchen and we’ll open it while I finish cooking.”

“Spaghetti Bolognese? Smells lovely,” Matt said as he followed her, trying and failing to keep his eyes off her bum. He nearly ran into her when she stopped at the stovetop to stir the pasta sauce, and she yelped as her hand hit the boiling liquid. “Shit!” Matt’s characteristic clumsiness was suddenly _not_ in evidence at this minor emergency, as he grabbed her by the wrist and had the hand under cold running water before she could object. “God, I’m so sorry, Alex, are you alright? Fuck, I’m an idiot, are you okay?” She laughed lightly and pulled her hand out of the water.

“It’s okay, darling, barely pink. Quick work on your part.” _Poor Matt_ , Alex thought, _looks devastated that he might have hurt me_. “Matthew, darling,” she said softly, reaching up with the damp hand and smoothing his hair back from his face. “It’s fine, truly it is.”

Matt seemed to come back to himself. “If you’re sure.” She nodded, never taking her eyes from his, and slowly pulled her hand away, to hold it out for inspection. He took it, very carefully, and turned it over to press a kiss into the centre of her palm. He heard the sharp little intake of breath that was not - quite - a gasp, and felt the pulse jump in her wrist.

They stood like that in the tiny kitchen in her Cardiff flat, his lips pressed to her palm and their eyes locked, until the sound of water hissing as it boiled over broke the spell. Alex jumped to take the pasta off the burner, and Matt to dig through the kitchen drawers. “Where d’you keep the corkscrew, Kingston,” he managed to say in an almost normal voice, “or do you hide it among the others?” And he tugged gently on her curly hair as casually as he could.

Alex gave a little sigh, and Matt felt with some bitterness that it was probably one of relief that they were back to friendly-and-slightly-flirty, that he wouldn’t bother her with any more hand-kisses.

And now he was back to depressed and wistful, missing his best mates and Alex before they were even gone. Well, shit. Time to put the acting skills to use again; maybe he could jolly himself into a nice evening. He smiled brilliantly at her as she found the corkscrew without even looking and handed it to him. He fumbled it but managed to catch it by the screw, drawing blood and swearing a blue streak, and it was Alex’s turn to look concerned and to coo over a minor injury. She smiled impishly at him as she wrapped a bandage round it and dropped a kiss into his palm this time, looking up at him flirtatiously through her lashes. He closed his eyes and just _felt,_ just let the sensations of desire and incipient loss wash over him, and abruptly found himself close to tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “need to use your loo.” And he opened his eyes and fled the room.

When he had composed himself, he emerged and sat across from her at the table, feeling sheepish and silly, but she hardly seemed to notice. “I’m sorry,” he said again, but she just smiled at him.

“Don’t be, darling,” she said, “You’ve clearly had a rough day. Can’t you tell me what’s got you so upset?”

He nodded, reluctantly, but all he said was, “You’ll think it’s silly... I...” he paused and swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. “I just... I’m going to miss you, so much, and _them_ and... all of you. Jenna’s lovely, but...” he trailed off as Alex put her fork down and stood up to come round to his side of the table. She took his hand and drew him to his feet.

“Come on darling,” she said in a very gentle ( _motherly,_ his mind mocked him) voice, “Let’s sit on the sofa. The pasta’ll keep.” She sat and pulled him down beside her. “They’re your best mates, Matt; it would be odd if you _weren’t_ sad they’re leaving. As for me...” she sighed and dropped her gaze. “I’ll be around as much as I ever am.” He put a finger gently under her chin as she had to him earlier that day and and used it to tilt her face up to his.

“Why does that make you so sad, Alex?” His voice was soft. “Is it that you miss Salome when you’re here?”

Alex shook her head as though to clear it. “Of course, darling,” she said in a breezy sort of voice, a smile on her face, but her eyes... Matt shoved himself back to the other end of the sofa.

“ _Don’t_ do that,” he said in a low tone, not looking at her. He was suddenly furious with her, with himself, with the whole damn situation. “Don’t treat me like I’m... a _child_ , like I couldn’t possibly understand. You have no idea how I--”

“I don’t!” Alex cried. “Matt, I...” her voice broke as she realised how angry he was, and she laced her fingers tightly together in her lap to keep from wringing her hands. “Matt... I _don’t_ think of you as a child. I never have. I...” He was looking at her strangely as though he’d never seen her before. “As a young man, yes, but I have never, _ever_ thought of you as a child.” She swallowed hard and went on. “I know I shouldn’t - I’m old enough to be your mother - but--”

This time it was Alex who was interrupted, and it was by Matt’s lips, hard and hot and demanding on hers. She let out a breathy little moan into his mouth and then it was all bodies and tongues and fingers questing to give each other pleasure, and eventually they laid quietly together and slept.

Hours later, Matt cradled Alex’s sleeping form in his arms and dragged some sort of blanket over them both, contented for the first time in weeks. _Who are you?_ he thought, and laughed silently. _I know who you are. You’re the luckiest man in the universe._


End file.
